


Happy New Year

by innusiq



Series: Pre-Serum Problems [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6216607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innusiq/pseuds/innusiq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>01/01/1941:  Today, Steve had to nurse a cranky and hungover Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy New Year

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of a series of ficlets inspired by [todays-skinny-steve](http://todays-skinny-steve.tumblr.com) tumblr page that chronicles Pre-Serum Steve's day to day life beginning 01/01/1941. I thank this tumblr user immensely for allowing me to use their posts as inspiration!

Steve quietly patters his way to their dented drip pot next to the stove, a hand-me-down from the neighbor a few doors down, not so much to start the day (seeing as it is nearing ten in the morning and he’s been up the last three hours doing nothing more than cataloging the stubble and contours, lashes and brow of a face he can sketch out by memory alone, while soaking up the warmth lying next to him), but to hopefully rouse Bucky from his deep, alcohol induced sleep. The fact Steve was able to climb his way out of bed without waking his best friend tells the tale of just how much Bucky drank last night before returning home from his last day of work for the year. Bucky deserves a night of letting go, celebrating another year of surviving on his own with the other men down at the docks, and toasting for a better year to come. After all Bucky did for his family still living on the other side (the good side) of Brooklyn, and needlessly Steve as well, he can’t chide the man on letting loose for one night of celebration.

After placing a pot of water to boil (the pot too quite dented and handed down from Bucky’s ma when they moved in together) and adding grounds into the drip pot, Steve steps back and pulls the holey and oversized cardigan Winifred Barnes had knitted her son for his 16th birthday a little tighter around his much smaller frame to stave off the morning chill and looks down, catching sight of his big toe sticking out his sock. Steve sighs as deeply as he can, knowing he will need to darn the sock (and a half dozen others of his and Bucky’s alike that he’s been putting off) soon before the hole grows too large to salvage the much-needed garment. Steve shivers then, a small puff of cold air making its way through the not-so-sealed window off the side of the kitchen, wrapping the collar of the sweater up around his neck and ducking his nose into the woven yarn. The Winter has barely begun and it’s been a bear of a season. Steve has already been sick twice, once right after Thanksgiving , Bucky’s insistent words of “I told you we should have stayed home,” the Monday after when Steve couldn’t even pull himself out of bed, blaming the walk to and from his family’s apartment for Steve’s sickly state, and again right before Christmas, Bucky reluctantly leaving Steve alone Christmas Day to go across town and celebrate with his family because Steve insisted, “Buck, you gotta go. I would never forgive myself keeping you from them….” only to return little less than a few hours later laden down with food and presents because Bucky’s mom had said (and Bucky quoted), “No one should be alone on Christmas.” Thankfully, it was only a small cold (to Steve at least) that lasted barely a week, and while he may not have been able to go out celebrating the end of one year and the beginning of the next last night, he will be able to go back to work in the morning and get back to helping out around here with the bills and the groceries and general living expenses.

The sound of Bucky stirring comes from the bed behind him, the squeak of a few springs that have long since been outstretched, and rustling of worn blankets as Bucky rolls over. Steve pours the boiling pot of water into the drip pot, catching the rich scent of coffee as the hot water hits the grounds. He hums, enjoying the rich aroma, setting the empty pot to the side as he waits for the water to drip through the grounds. It probably won’t be the strength Bucky prefers, but Steve is trying to conserve to make the special treat last longer. Bucky will probably grouse about that, “What’s the point of drinking coffee if it ain’t good,” and Steve will just tell him that, “Next time you can buy it and waste it all you like.” Steve pours the coffee into the two chipped mugs that came with the apartment, mugs that no matter how often Bucky threatens to replace they never do because Steve’s too attached to them because, “They are our first _ours_ ,” and Bucky never pushes the issue further. 

When Steve turns to carry the mugs of coffee over to their buddied up twins, Bucky is already sitting up, but not looking any more awake than when he was passed out to the world. Steve nudges Bucky’s shoulder with his elbow and hands the fuller mug to his friend when Bucky’s one eye cracks open slightly in response.

“Hrgmph,” Bucky grunts, blindly taking the mug and gulping half its contents before the taste even registers. “Needs sugar.”

Steve shrugs, taking a sip of the not too strong yet still bitter brew and takes a seat next to Bucky. “We’ve been out a week. I’ll try to get some tomorrow after work.”

Bucky downs the remains of his mug with a slight grimace before setting it on the floor and standing, a bit wobbly at first. “Nah, don’t gotta do that. I’ll be back.”

Steve pulls his feet up on the bed, legs tucked against his chest, as he continues on with his mug of coffee and watches Bucky scratch the back of his bird’s nest hair as he leaves their small apartment to make his way to their floor’s communal bath. It’s no more than a few minutes before Bucky returns, feet dragging each step back through the door and over to the bed where he climbs in behind Steve and burrows back under the covers.

“Bucky…” Steve whines, knowing if he lets the man sleep the day away, a good night’s sleep won’t be had and the guy will be worse for wear down at the docks the next day. “Half the day’s gone already. You can’t…”

“Can…” is Bucky’s muffled response.

“Buck…” Steve begins, preparing to admonish his friend as he leans down to set his own (now empty) mug next to Bucky’s on the floor, but before any further words can be said, strong arms wrap around his waist and he’s manhandled back into bed. “Bucky!!!!”

Bucky’s arms and legs wrap around him octopus style, and a puff of warm, alcohol scented breath brushes the side of Steve’s neck as he’s pulled back against Bucky’s broader chest. There is no use in struggling against him when Bucky gets like this, and really, they’ve got nowhere they really need to be this New Year’s Day. Bucky settles behind him, radiating so much warmth and comfort in the tight embrace that Steve finds himself settling all the same, arms hugging the ones around his chest and eyes drooping against his will.

“Happy New Year, Stevie,” Bucky mumbles against the back of his neck after a few minutes of silence pass, arms squeezing slightly to emphasize the sentiment.

“Happy New Year, Buck.”


End file.
